


SPORTSBALL

by buttered_onions



Series: Voltron: AU Fills [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Crack, Gen, Humor, no regrets, sportsball, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: When Shiro's entire team doesn't make it to the match, it looks like Team Galra will take home the Sportsball Trophy once again - unless Shiro can find four entirely new players, from nowhere, to put on the field in the next half hour.Good thing Shiro's not afraid of challenges.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this one is too good not to include.
> 
> _AU in which Shiro's ENTIRE sports team gets held up for some reason and they will have to forfeit unless they can put 5 ppl on the field so Shiro frantically calls anyone he can think of who would still be on campus at 9pm and well what happens next might surprise you_
> 
> THANKS, MUMBLEFOX.
> 
> As a disclaimer - I don't play sports. I know nothing about sports. My only apology is the zero amount of research I did for this piece. Unbeta'd, unresearched, all mistakes on this thing are gleefully mine. Enjoy~

**00\. Tonight: SPORTSBALL, the Game of Legends, reaches its Final and Terrifying Conclusion!**

**Tonight at 9:00pm - Team Voltron versus Team Galra! Will Team Galra keep their claim on the SPORTSBALL TROPHY after winning last year’s terrible upset?! Or will Team Voltron rise from the ashes and reclaim the trophy and their title to be the SPORTSBALL CHAMPIONS?!!**

**Tune in tonight at 9:00pm - don’t miss the ultimate showdownnnnn!**

**01.** Shiro’s arm in this universe is a plain old regular prosthetic. It doesn’t hurt, it fits well, but he still has to have it checked up fairly regularly especially since returning to such an active and intense sport as Sportsball. 

His next appointment’s scheduled right before the Championship game, which Matt assures him isn’t a problem. Shiro’s appointment’s pretty close; he can go in early for it and just head to the gymnasium when he’s finished. The rest of the team will take the van and meet him there.

Shiro lost the arm in a car accident. The worst part wasn’t how it put him out of commission, but effectively crippled his entire Sportsball team. Without him and at the last minute like that, there was no time to find a replacement. Team Voltron was forced to default in the semi-finals, leaving the underdog Team Arus to face the Reigning Champions Team Galra, and there just wasn’t a question of who would come out on top. Logically Shiro knows it’s not his fault. Matt swears the team doesn’t blame Shiro for it, but it’s still hard for Shiro not to blame himself.

Which is why when he gets the call from Matt at 8:15pm that _there’s been an accident_ , Shiro’s first reaction is sheer and utter panic.

 _“We’re fine,”_ Matt says, again, his voice tinny through the speakers of Shiro’s not-smart-phone. _“Takashi, breathe. We’re fine. No one’s hurt. Coran just swerved to avoid hitting a family of ducks crossing the road. Everyone’s fine.”_

“Even the ducks?” Shiro manages.

 _“Even the ducks,”_ Matt says. _“The, uh, the only thing that isn’t fine is the car. We’re not gonna make it, Shiro.”_

Shiro pauses. “What do you mean, _not gonna make it?”_

 _“I’m sorry!”_ Matt says. Through the crackling phone Shiro can hear the rest of the team squabbling in the background, a raise of voices not at all comforting. _“The car won’t start and none of us are engineers, so we’re totally stuck.”_

No. No no no. “Call your sister,” Shiro says flatly. Now that the panic’s fading true desperation begins to set in. “Call _somebody!”_

 _“She went out to some thing with her friends,”_ Matt says. _“We’ve called Triple AAA but it’s going to be a while. We’re kind of up a creek, Shiro. I’m so sorry.”_

No. No, they are not forfeiting this. Not when they’ve come _so close_ to the Sportsball Trophy. If they forfeit tonight it’ll be over. They’ll be ridiculed again. Shiro’s not willing to watch his team go through that again, not after last year. Not after everything. They are _not giving up._

_“Shiro?”_

“We’re not giving up,” Shiro says, aloud. “Keep your phone on. Text me the second Triple AAA gets there. Got it?”

 _“Got it,”_ Matt says, a distinct note of suspicion creeping into his voice. _“Shiro, what are you going to do?”_

“Whatever I have to,” Shiro says grimly.

 _“Please tell me you’re not about to do something stupid,”_ Matt says.

“Then I won’t tell you,” Shiro says, and hangs up.

 

 **02.** Shiro at least has the team’s spare jerseys with him, crumpled and wrinkled in the trunk of his car.

He shrugs into the black jersey labelled _#01_ , lets it settle on his shoulders. Four more to go. Shiro makes a single phone call, then steels himself.

It’ll be a miracle if they pull this off.

“Okay, audience, listen up,” he announces, to the handful of folks in the gymnasium who’ve shown up early. The game’s not set to start for thirty minutes but that isn’t much time to assemble four other players to put on the field. He scans the crowd. The rival team has way more supporters here than Voltron does; the Galra fans ignore him completely or worse, whisper to their friends and laugh. Certainly none of them volunteer. Not that Shiro’d want them anyway, wearing all that purple. Ugh.

The situation doesn’t look good. Most of the folks on the Voltron side of the audience look like they’ve never played sports in their lives or aren’t dressed for it or won’t glance up from their phones to listen to him; except for some teenager in the front row who’s decked out in every single one of the Voltron colors, complete with face paint, enormous lion-shaped hat, and giant fake foam number-one glove. Worse than all that is that he’s definitely, totally, _absolutely_ trying to catch Shiro’s eye with the thing as Shiro explains the problem to the audience.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Any volunteers?” Shiro finishes at last, and waits for the inevitable.

Sports-teenage-loud-guy raises his foam hand so fast he nearly whacks the person sitting next to him in the face. “ME! ME! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!”

“Lance, no,” his companion groans.

“Lance _yes_ ,” Lance says, eyes practically on fire with his excitement. “I got you, Shiro. This is a dream come true. The Lanceinator here knows _everything_ about Sportsball. With me on your team we can’t lose!”

 

 **03.** Lance is Sportsball’s, and Voltron’s, biggest freaking fan.

“Here,” Shiro says, resigning himself to his fate and handing Lance jersey _#03_. Lance takes the blue jersey with a terrifying and appropriate amount of reverence, mouth agape in awe. Shiro turns to Lance’s friend. “And you - this’ll fit? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Probably,” headband-guy says with a long-suffering sigh, accepting jersey _#02_ from Shiro. “I’m Hunk. Lance, how did I let you talk me into this?”

“You love this sport just as much as me,” Lance counters, his voice muffled by fabric as he stuffs himself into the jersey. “C’mon, dude! How cool is this? Did you know when you agreed to come to this game with me that you’d get to play alongside the legendary _Shiro?!”_

“I’m not legendary,” Shiro tries.

Lance’s head pops through the neck of the jersey. “You totally are. This is so great!”

Hunk sighs, poking his arms through the sleeves of his yellow jersey. “No offense, Shiro, I’m in this just as much as you are, I’ll have your back and everything, but I don’t know the first thing about this game. I just came along ‘cause Lance dragged me here.”

…oh. Shiro tries to hide his dismay. Lance’s enthusiasm will (hopefully) cover his lack of experience, but Shiro’d been so sure with Hunk’s headband and muscles there was a fan in there _somewhere._ It doesn’t even have to be Sportsball, just - something? But if Hunk’s never even heard -

No. Shiro can’t think that way. Maybe this is simple pre-game nerves. Shiro opens his mouth to start one of his traditional Pep Talks, but Lance beats him to it.

Sort of.

“Have you never listened to me?!” Lance asks, horrified and exasperated. “Hunk, come on! How often do I talk about Sportsball to you?”

“All the time,” Hunk parrots sheepishly. “Sorry?”

Lance throws his hands up in the air, aghast. _“Hunk!”_

“Crash course in Sportsball,” Shiro orders; both of them snap to attention. Huh. Maybe he can make something out of this. Maybe there’s a little hope after all. “Lance, give him the rules again. The _spark notes version_ ,” he corrects, when Lance sucks in a huge breath. “I’ll find us a fourth player.”

“Uh, about that,” Hunk says, raising his index finger, “If I have to do this - ”

“No, Hunk, no,” Lance hisses. “She’s too late to be on our team. She’s uninvited. No!”

“If I have to do this there’s no way Pidge is getting out of it,” Hunk says. He’s already waving at the door where a small figure’s just slipped in with more of the crowd. “And she’s not late. Look, there she is!”

“Pidge?” says Shiro.

 

 **04.** Pidge, Matt’s little sister, laughs so hard she cries. Then she gets super excited.

“Of course I know Sportsball!” she exclaims, as Shiro reluctantly hands her jersey number _#05_ , the green one. She’s smaller than Matt but it’s the smallest jersey he’s got. “I’ve watched so many of Matt’s games. This’ll be great. You _can’t lose_ with us. I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Have you ever played Sportsball before?” Shiro asks, hopefully.

“Nope, but I’ve read all the rulebooks,” Pidge says, and either she politely ignores Shiro’s crestfallen face as more of his hope dies or fails to notice altogether. “Rules say we need a fifth player. You got one, or should I phone a friend?”

“I got one,” Shiro says. “He should be here any minute.”

 

 **05.** “You owe me,” Keith says, walking into the campus gymnasium at exactly two minutes to go time. “You owe me so badly for this.”

“I know, I know,” Shiro says. Wild relief bursts in his chest as Keith reaches their group, Keith who at least has played this game before, Keith who came with kneepads and elbow pads like Shiro’s and at least doesn’t look like he’s about to get run over like poor tiny Pidge. If Keith’s here they’re saved. If Keith’s here they have a chance. “Quick, put this on. We’re having a huddle and then we have to go.”

“Who else did you find?” Keith asks, slipping jersey _#04_ over his head.

 _“Keith?!”_ Lance cries.

Keith recoils, the sleeve of his new red jersey brushing against Shiro’s as he pulls back. “Shiro, no!”

“What?” Shiro asks, blinking. “Do you guys know each other?”

“Know him?!” Lance squawks, popping up from where he and Pidge have been stuffing Hunk’s brain with more Sportsball trivia then Hunk’s ever going to remember. Hunk’s a little wild-eyed from the information overload, though his expression is somehow fading into something resolute and determined. Lance stomps over to Shiro, pointing an accusing and thankfully foam-less finger at Keith. “I’d recognize that mullet anywhere. I’m not playing on a team with him!”

“Now just a second,” Shiro says.

“Shiro, I’ll put up with a lot,” Keith starts hotly, “But this - ”

“No,” Lance says, crossing his arms in a vicious X. “No, no way. I refuse!”

Oh hell no. Shiro didn’t get this far to have his team and his shot at the championship lost for _this._

“Do you want to be on a team with me or not?” Shiro cuts in, before the argument (Lance), stubborn refusal (Keith), or panic (no, Shiro, bad) can really set in.

Lance stutters to a halt, gaping in horror. “B-but - ”

“Do you or not?” Shiro demands. “My team comes with Keith.”

“I’m not playing with someone who’s going to insult my hair at every turn,” Keith interjects.

“He’s not,” Shiro says, glaring at Lance. “Are you, Lance?”

Lance pauses, thinking through his options so hard that Shiro can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

 _“Fine_ ,” Lance seethes at last, straightening up with a _hmph_. “But we’re on opposite sides of the court and I’m _not_ talking to him.”

“Fine,” Keith snaps. Lance stomps back over to finish briefing Hunk. Keith turns to Shiro, who’s trying really hard not to hide his face in his hands. “Shiro, you owe me _so hard.”_

“I know,” Shiro groans, “I’ll make it up to you.”

 

**+1. What happens next may surprise you**

It shouldn’t be possible, that a ragtag group of individual friends and enemies wearing borrowed, wrinkled stained jerseys with numbers that Shiro definitely didn’t assign them based on their height, could come together to form _Voltron_ so efficiently, expertly, and perfectly. But they do.

The Galra Team are reigning champions for a reason. They’re huge, tall, and massively bulky. They were built for this game, or at least for bullying their way around it and to the title.

Unfortunately for them, they’ve never faced Shiro and Team Voltron quite like this.

It takes a while and a half-time _motivational speech_ (Lance squeaks with glee when Shiro gathers them in a huddle and mouths “Listen up, Team Voltron!” right along with him), but once Team Voltron snaps together?

They’re unstoppable.

Once Hunk is in Hunk is _absolutely in_. He’s totally, unabashedly, one-hundred percent committed. So is Pidge. The viciousness with which they cover the left side of the field is _impressive_ and kind of a little frightening as they throw balls, hit balls, scream battle cries that get louder and louder and work so darn well off each other it’s flat-out mind boggling.

And for all his brash enthusiasm and raucous flailing, Lance is downright _frightening_ on the field _._ He sheds the hat and the colors and the foam finger and takes to the court with brutal, intimidating gameface. He and Keith actually work scarily well together in pretty much every aspect. They guard the right side of the court with near-perfect synchronization; when Keith hits the ball with his head and the ref flags him, Lance flatly and brutally out-argues the referee about why it’s a legal and valid move (Pidge helps, quoting some frankly _ancient_ rendition of the rules that Shiro’s never heard about, but it makes the ref pale and concede in their favor, so who is he to say).

They - the entire team - they’re _unstoppable._ The Galra don’t know what to make of them. Not even Team Galra’s legendary Ion Cannon shot, supposed to slam the ball at top-notch speed across the court, can get through their defense. _Pidge_ stops it, of all people, when Hunk hurls her across the court just in time to fly through the air and smack the ball back over in a perfect saving throw. They’re unorthodox; they’re unexpected; and, quite frankly, they’re unbeatable.

It’s a way better team than Shiro expected. It’s a _good_ team. There’s something supernatural and nearly magical that happens when the five of them unite for a common goal. For this precious chunk of time they aren’t separate people. They’re part of a team. They’re a part of something much greater. They can _do this._

Together, they can form Voltron.

Needless to say, Team Voltron wins the championship game, the title, the Sportsball Trophy, and crushes the Galra so soundly Voltron earns a place in Sportsball History forever.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> If you cackled your way through this like I did while writing it, please drop me a comment and let me know! I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com), where this prompt came from and where I'm posting other AU fills as a milestone celebration. They go on tumblr first, then to the Archive much later; if you want these ficlets hot off the press, come stop by tumblr and say hello! Thanks for reading!
> 
> (originally posted [here](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/154748640848/au-in-which-shiros-entire-sports-team-gets-held))


End file.
